


Out of Breath

by candiedbonemarrow



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-09-28 03:36:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20419259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/candiedbonemarrow/pseuds/candiedbonemarrow
Summary: An heir keeps watch over his knight





	Out of Breath

He didn't mean for it to happen.

He blames himself for that night, but what was he supposed to do? We planned to go to this wicked Halloween party that Rose was hosting at her house-well, okay, I planned to go alone, but he was going too; he even flew all the way out from Texas to come surprise me! Rose stalled me while he came to pick me up. I was, a little too excited, maybe, to get over there and show everyone my fucking sweet ass costume I spent months on. Maybe I was a little lonely, too, maybe I couldn't handle being told to be by myself any longer and I just. Decided, to walk there, in the dark. Without reflective gear. And my costume wasn't bright or anything, so there's that I guess? I was pretty fucking stupid if I'm honest. I think it was my fault.

But I didn't anticipate it either. I don't think anyone could have, not even Rose with her Seer powers (that she still has! I mean come on Rose, you could have told me there was an alternate turnout if I decided to leave the house! Which is why I firmly believe that she isn't as all-knowing as she claims, and that she can't see everything.) A naive 22 year old boy-man-guy whatever in his black Ghostbuster Mafia AU suit is pretty hard to see in the dark. Being tall doesn't exactly prevent accidents, you know, and I wasn't turned towards him.

I didn't feel any pain when the car came barreling through me. I didn't have time to register I was even dead! I don't actually know if the tires crushed my skull or anything like that because my body was pretty obscured (turns out, you can't actually see your body after death because it likes to hide itself in this little cloud of blackness. Like, how rude,) so uh, I thought that the fact that I could, you know, get up and walk afterward meant I wasn't actually run over, or dead. Like maybe the car had flung me across the road and I was spared? I don't know I have shitty logic sometimes but it made sense at the time!

He got out of the car to see what happened. He saw whatever lump was left of me, maybe it wasn't even a full lump, and he started screaming. Screaming and wailing and god, it was the first time I'd ever seen him cry, like, _really _cry, and I wasn't even alive to comfort him. Big, fat tears that stained his face with puffy redness and salty pain, burned at the whites of his eyes and the scrapes he left on his cheeks from digging his fingernails into them. I didn't know it was him at first, either. You know, because I thought he was supposed to be in Texas? But, no one else has eyes that shade of red, not even Karkat, so when he took off his glasses... Oh man. Oh man oh man, I don't want to remember what I saw in them. I don't want those feelings to be there ever again, if I can help it. I tried. I tried to tell him I was okay and I was right there, and then my hand went through his shoulder when I went to pat it. All I could do was sit there and pitifully attempt to hold him while pleading for some way to tell him it was okay. I ended up crying, too. I think he can hear when I wail, but I don't know if he heard me then. I wish I could have pulled his hands away from his skin. I wish I could have at least said goodbye, or something. Whatever ghosts are supposed to say.

And how could I ever hold it against him? He's my best friend, even if I'm not, really around to be best friends with him the way I want to be. And you know, he does all of these cute little things that make my heart do weird flips. His speech at my funeral was the sappiest thing I've ever heard; I didn't know Dave had that kind of thing in him, thought his only settings were Ridiculously Serious and Stoic Look John I Don't Have Feelings See or Irony Only. It made everyone cry. It confused the hell out of me, but it made me happy, I think. I should have followed him home after, but I got the chance to again when he visited my grave the next Halloween.

I had spent the past year moping around the cemetery with other ghosts; I met a lot of young kids who died the same way I did. Not many old people stay in cemeteries. Most of them find peace in death before they pass, and the ones that do stay are grumpy and sour and usually entitled pissants so, I didn't talk to them. It was kind of fun? But when I saw the car that ran me over that night pull up to the beaten sidewalk and his neglected mop of white hair from behind the door, I was pretty lucky there were no kids around to see the embarrassing way I squeaked. Dave was my only visitor, and is still probably my only visitor, when he drives all the way down to Washington. Same suit he wore to the funeral. A bouquet of flowers, a wax-sealed letter, his favorite of my shirts. It's my favorite now, too. He was so gentle when he arranged everything, babbling on about how he missed me, how he was sorry he was late, how a moonlit conversation in a cemetery wasn't the most ideal way to "do this", he was so timid when his eyes drifted over my name and the day I was born. Honestly? Fuck that game, I prefer the day I died over my fucking birthday. Sburb was fucked. He said so too, but he, likes my birthday. Told me it was the greatest day to ever be, if I was born then. Dave is secretly the biggest fucking cheeseball you'll ever meet.

He went on and on about what was going on in his life, what he was doing without me. About everything he wishes I could have seen. All of the embarrassing moments he didn't want me to see, but that I should have been there for anyway. About how he should have stayed in Washington with me instead of going back to Texas, after everything. On and on about all the regrets he had. It didn't matter to me, really. It was okay that he didn't do some of the things he wanted.

And then those big fat tears again when he says he wishes he could have told me he loved me when he could be slapped in the face for it. When he could have heard me scold him. When he, could have kissed me, and I could have kissed him back.

It's a little weird figuring out you're gay after you've died.

So, I said 'Fuck it. Why not haunt him?' and I hopped in the passenger's seat and kept him company on the drive home. I accidentally messed with the dashboard and the steering wheel, a few times. Poor Dave. I'm glad his heart is healthy, I think I bring him closer to a heart attack every day.

I like to mess with him a little bit. Move his cups, knock things over, change the tv channels or mess with his computer, you know? Just a bit. Sometimes I try to leave him hidden messages, but he never really sees them. The guy thinks he's constantly being hacked (I hate it when he turns off his electronics.) I like to leave him reminders too. I can write, I found out, though it drains the hell out of me, so it takes forever just to write a few words. I usually save it for his appointments and when he has finals. It's easier on his mind, since I learned how to copy his handwriting. He thinks he writes them. He totally doesn't. He doesn't even buy post-it-notes. I honestly don't know how he hasn't put it together that it's me, or at least that it's someone else, but that's Dave I guess. I'm trying to leave him reminders in his phone instead, since it's easier to hack electronics. I wish he'd leave his phone on the table for me.

I straighten the house when he's gone so he doesn't have to worry about it. I've figured out how to do laundry and cook food. Cleaning is easy. Knock shit over or knock shit back in place. Haunt the vacuum and nyoom around the floors. Vacuuming is fucking hilarious when big pieces of trash get caught in there because I get to hack it out like I'm a cat with a big nasty hairball or a cannon with a heavy load. Haunting every piece of clothing to fold it gets boring though, and I hate the way I have to twist myself. It's unnatural. But I'll do it, for Dave. Anything to cut down on all the shit he has to deal with.

He's so reckless. Falls asleep at the wheel, likes to drink until he passes out, likes to blow off his classes to go and do stupid shit. I can't tell you how many times I've had to save him. It's like he's trying to die! Like really Dave? I'm working hard here! I can't drive for you all the time, someone's gonna pull you over and arrest you for endangering people and-whatever, who cares? As long as he's still here, I'll do my best to keep him safe.

I get jealous when he brings people home, even though he never does anything with them. He tries to. Sometimes he'll start to get into it and then he shoves them off before it escalates too far, decides he can't do it anymore, goes and buys them a drink for their trouble and drives them home. He's trying really hard to move on from me. He tells me so, in the time he's awake staring at the ceiling. I like to snuggle up to him the best I can and listen to his heartbeat while he talks to me. I hope he can feel it. I try so hard to be as real as possible, to be warm at night, to maybe haunt his dreams but I can't do all of those things and it hurts. It's the worst thing about being dead.

One day I'll tell him I'm there. Who knows? Maybe one day I won't be able to save him from an accident and he'll be a ghost with me, and he'll get that kiss he's waited so long for. Until then, though? I'll tuck him in and kiss him goodnight and scare shitty people away from him. He's my Dave.

He didn't mean for it to happen, but I guess, maybe it was a blessing. Maybe.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, quick little shitty drabble in, I think the first person? I just wanted to churn this out and have it exist. Here it is.


End file.
